


Ice and Blood

by peanutbutterandbananasandwichs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3132269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutbutterandbananasandwichs/pseuds/peanutbutterandbananasandwichs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Sam's first kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice and Blood

Sam sat huddled on the backseat of the Impala, waiting. The early January air was bitterly cold and despite the two t-shirts, baggy hoodie and jacket he was wearing, he shivered against the chill that seemed to reach right down to his bones. Dean had slipped him a flask with some whiskey in just before he left, to ‘warm him up’, but Sam knew that the last thing you should be imbibing in these conditions was something that actually lowered your core body temperature. Besides, despite what the rest of his family might think he was pretty certain that twelve was too young to be hitting the hard liquor. He’d had to firmly turn away several beers that had been thrown at him two days ago during their typically dismal New Year’s evening. Dad and Dean getting progressively drunker and more moody as the night went on. When Sam had announced he was going to bed sometime around 1am, when he just couldn’t take the oppressive gloom anymore, dad had glared at him as if he were some strange, alien creature and grumbled that “your brother wasn’t such a killjoy at your age.”

.

He’d tried doing some homework, to pass the time, but his hands were frozen stiff, the knuckle joints aching, his finger tips felt bruised just trying to hold the pen, the notepad lay abandoned on the seat beside him. Sam glanced out the window again, for the hundredth time in the last half hour or so, chewing his bottom lip and fidgeting, tapping his right leg up and down. A mixture of vain attempt to get blood flowing through his limbs once more, a the kind of nervous energy he always seemed to store up, like an over coiled spring, whenever he was worried. They’d been gone for well over two hours now, he could make out the house they’d been headed for, silhouetted against the sunrise, just short of the horizon. Between him and it was nothing but flat, open scrubland, there wasn’t even a breath of wind to rustle the few scant bushes or shiver the bare silver grey fingers of the single tree. It all seemed too quiet. Perhaps it would have helped if they’d actually told him what they were hunting, instead of Dean just roughly shaking him awake as dad barked at him to stay put and Dean’s muttered, “won’t be long Sammy” as he squeezed his shoulder (and slipped him the flask) before heading out after John.

.

It must have been a last minute thing because usually Sam was able to work out what was going on from listening in to the back and forth discussion going on in the seats in front of him. In fact he’d often had the case figured out well before the official pronouncement, but he’d learned there wasn’t much point in voicing his conclusions as nine times out of ten John just went on talking like he’d not even heard him, even Dean barely took notice, occasionally offering a “maybe Sammy” before turning back to dad. But this time there’d been nothing to even indicate a hunt had been found, so it had to be something simple, a salt and burn probably, he worried his bottom lip some more, then, what was taking so long? He tapped his foot restlessly against the seat in front for a minute or so more, then reached under it for the book he’d stashed there. He read for about five minutes or so before he realised he’d read the same line roughly ten times, sighing with frustration he threw the book down alongside the abandoned notebook letting out a huff and a muttered ‘damn it!’. He peered out the window again, this time having to wipe away the mist where his foggy breath had condensed on the ice cold glass. It was still absolutely motionless. Sam made up his mind. He patted his jacket pocket and felt the knife there, it would have to do. The trunk was locked and dad had the keys so he had no way of getting at anything more substantial, at least the blade was silver, that worked against a lot of things. He leaned over between the front seats and found a small pot of salt that had fallen down the gap, well, he reasoned, that covered most bases.

.

Sam opened the door and stepped out; it somehow seemed marginally warmer outside the car, though that could just be to do with being able to move his limbs properly. This was a stupid idea, going against a “stay put” was pretty much the worst crime he could commit, but something just wasn’t right, he could feel it and getting a beat down was worth every minute if it meant he knew they were both ok. He took a deep breath, stealing himself, tapping the knife in one pocket and the salt in the other once more for the thin reassurance they offered and he set off at a brisk pace towards the house on the skyline. He reached the front door, it stood ajar and was hanging slightly off its hinges, but the house overall didn’t look particularly run down, he guessed dad and Dean must have forced it open. Sam pushed the door gingerly inward and padded silently through. He looked about him. Nothing. The whole house, like the land surrounding was perfectly, eerily still. Sam shivered, and this time it has absolutely nothing to do with the cold. He made his was along the empty hallway, listening intently, trying to make out even the slightest sound in the heavy silence that lay thickly upon everything. Just as he reached the end of the corridor, he heard the creek of a floor board; he pricked his ears, it had come from the room above him. He reached into his right pocket and grasped the knife handle firmly; he didn’t pull it out just yet. Sam pressed his back against the wall as he cautiously ascended the staircase, he could feel his heart thumping in his chest so hard he thought it might bust out, so loud that surely whatever dad and Dean had been after must have be able to hear it! He made it to the top step and was just stepping out onto the landing when all of a sudden he was grasped from behind. He felt cold, clammy hands grip tightly and he knew instantly that it wasn’t dad or Dean. Pure instinct took over, Sam kicked back with his left leg, hard enough to momentarily break the grasp, whirling around he brandished the knife in front of him, but nothing was there. He felt the hands make another grab, this time from the other side of him and he was able to turn fast enough to avoid being caught. He whirled again and his free hand came upon something solid, but he still couldn’t see anything. The hands grabbed again and found both his shoulders, he grappled and wrestled with the thing, but it was strong, and then, before he even knew what had happened the blade of his knife made contact, it sank into the invisible form and Sam saw beads of scarlet forming, dripping from the hilt. It was like coming back to himself. Panicking, Sam swiftly pulled the blade out and as he did his surroundings seemed to shift around him, the house suddenly looked significantly more dilapidated, holes in the roof letting in streaming sunlight, peeling wallpaper and missing floorboards. Sam hardly noticed any of that, before him lay the body of a girl, her frame was small and fragile, she looked barely older than seven, maybe eight. And if her eyes seemed maybe a little too big and her ears perhaps slightly pointed, Sam hardly even registered, all he could see was that there was blood pouring from a hole in her side. He dropped to his knees, reaching out towards her, hands shaking, the knife thrown down beside him. He heard heavy footfalls approaching and in a daze he looked up, Dean was racing down the corridor toward him. Dean reached Sam and after a quick once over look to make sure he was ok he dropped down next to him gaping open mouthed at the sight. “Whoa, Sammy, way to go!” Sam looked up at Dean blankly “what?” he murmured, hardly hearing his own voice. “You did it, you killed it! Didn’t think you had it in you!” Dean nudged him, “hey, you ok?” “I…it’s just a little girl Dean”, “hey, hey no, no it’s not, whatever it looks like, don’t matter, it wasn't human Sam. Come on” Dean stood, reaching out his hand to pull Sam up with him. Sam didn’t respond, he just continued to stare at the lifeless form in front of him. “Dean? DEAN?!” a voice shouted “I’m here dad!” Dean responded. John came thundering around the corner, he stopped short as he took in the scene before him, then he marched forward, grabbing Sam by his jacket collar and yanking him up. “What the hell are you doing here?!” he growled “It told you to wait. In the car.” He dropped Sam roughly, before rounding on him again “can’t you even listen to one goddamn thing I tell you! You’re just lucky your brother found you when he did!” Dean started to open his mouth to say something, maybe that it was Sam that had saved them, but he shut it again swiftly. “Come on” John shouted over his shoulder as he stomped out.

.

Sam didn't even really remember the walk back to the car, he barely even registered as he was shoved though the back door into his seat by his dad. He just sat there in numb silence. He remembered Dean telling him about making your first kill. He’d described the rush, the excitement; he’d said it made you feel alive. But all Sam felt was lost and sick; he kept seeing that little girl’s body over and over. When, finally, they reached their new motel, after hours of driving in complete, oppressive silence, Sam found himself racing for the bathroom, clinging desperately to the toilet bowl as he emptied his guts, until he was left, body wracked with heaving dry wretches. As he lay down in his and Dean’s bed, he caught sight of something glistening on the bed stand, he grabbed it and looked at the name etched into it “SAM” it seemed almost like an accusation, he wanted to hurl the knife across the room, but then Dean was getting into the bed and he placed a hand on Sam’s back, between his shoulder blades, “good job today Sammy.” It’s months before that body leaves his nightmares.


End file.
